Morning, chickens, and welcome to the weekend.
On this, my last day of 27, I headed to bells to get in a workout before a long day of activities.
“Happy Birthday!” Gene shouted, as he shook me.
He likes to shake people.
I think he means well.
Apparently he’d seen in the system that tomorrow was my day of birth, and he told me I should consider coming to his Monday kettlebell class as the “guest of honor”.
I’ll still be sore Monday, but I appreciate the sentiment.
In any case, after grilling me about my weekend plans and advising me that I should probably not go to work on Monday (if only…), we got down to business, swinging weights.
In a moment of exuberance over my near perfect form, I launched the bell a little too hard, missed the catch, and sent it scuttling across the floor and into a water bottle.
Fortunately, I didn’t hit anyone, and Madonna was loud enough to (almost) cover up my misdeed.
Sometimes I think I’m lucky I make it out of there alive every week.
Next up this morning is a trip to the suburbs for a wedding shower. I tasked JW with wrapping the gift in my absence, since I was running on a tight schedule, and also because I am terrible at wrapping even the simplest of boxes.
When he was finished, it had a ribbon on it.
I told him I was impressed, and he mentioned nonchalantly that he remembered from past weddings that breaking the ribbon was a thing. Apparently, the number of ribbons you break has to do with the number of children you’ll be producing.
The fact that my husband remembered this left me wondering if I should be proud or concerned.
At least one of us keeps track of these things.
And now, I’m headed off to enjoy an afternoon of friends, an early evening full of big-time middle school basketball games, and a night of pizza and drinks with my friends. Enjoy this chilly, sunshine-y day chickadees!